


Ignite

by Frenzy



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Darker Pokemon AU, Drama, Growing Up, Mystery, Pokemon Battle, Pokemon Journey, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 22:01:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16921212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frenzy/pseuds/Frenzy
Summary: To allow an arrogant youth into the world of pokemon is to throw a mareep to a pack of lycanroc. Young Simon, a brash and ignorant boy, thinks of himself as a champion in the making. He starts his journey with the belief that "natural authority" and tough love will set him on the path of becoming a fire type master. However, pokemon training is no easy feat and Simon's start is shaky. He has several obstacles to overcome: losing his starter, accusations of crime, evil encounters... and this is only the beginning. How will he deal with the harsh realities of life outside his sheltered bubble? The world of pokemon is a dangerous place, filled with unimaginable perils and people with bad intentions. The more he learns, the more his direction may change. What path will Simon take?





	Ignite

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Obviously, much to my disappointment, I don't own Pokemon.
> 
> Author's Note: Thanks for taking an interest in my first Pokemon fanfiction. I'll admit, I know trainer fics are common – especially first journeys – but it is my hope that you will still give this one a try and be pleasantly surprised by the content. There's a lot planned, so I implore you to stick around for Simon's adventures, even if you do not take to him initially. Once again, thanks for giving this a try.

The journey has just begun and his starter is already lost.

"Chikorita!"

Beneath the sweltering Johto sun stands a young boy named Simon. He cups his hands around his mouth to boost the volume of his voice, his tone coated with annoyance. "Chikorita, come back!" No one pays him any mind which saves him from embarrassment, but feeds the exasperation derived from a lack of assistance.

Simon is small, stocky, and non-descript, olive-skinned with brown hair and brown eyes. Despite all of his efforts to seem otherwise, he is young. He wants to be certain, confident, and sure of himself for his travels. He wants to prove that he knows what he is doing. But this has not been easy. And for the first time since he's left New Bark Town, it is finally hitting him: he is alone.

Simon looks around, a feeling creeping up on him like a shadow on a sundial. He is reminded of the time he was separated from his dad in a large Poke Mart at five years of age. Back then, not knowing where his father was had felt like the worst possible scenario of his life. Chikorita's image floods his brain and Simon shakes his head.

He trudges forward, shrugging his shoulders to subdue the impending sense of dread, but not quite shaking it. "Chikorita!" he calls again, continuing on.

 

* * *

 

The pokemon appears on the holographic screen projected by the pokeball and Simon's eyes narrow. It is small, green, and looks fairly docile. Like most starters, it does not seem menacing. And it possesses a rather large head that has an even larger leaf protruding from it. There is a problem here, however: Simon does not see flames, smoke, or even a sliver of steam.

"This is... not what I wanted." He is direct like he was taught to be. His father has always been straightforward, and there is no one Simon admires more than his father, so he continuously mimics the behavior he idolizes in the hopes that it will eventually become his own. Simon likes the professor and does not want to hurt his feelings, but there is no point in mincing words.

Professor Elm blinks and clears his throat. "Well, I'm afraid this is the starter left for you, Simon. The other trainers came earlier and claimed theirs. But! Chikorita are very intelligent and loyal pokemon. I think you'll come to like her more than you expect."

His features remain in a contortion of dissatisfaction, but if he is to prove his independence he must act accordingly.  _I can make this work,_ he tells himself.  _It's just a setback._

"Okay, I'll take it."

Professor Elm looks to be an amalgamation of concern and relief. He offers Simon a smile that falters when he notices the boy's hard gaze on the pokeball that is being transferred into his grasp. It is never a joy to realize that a young trainer is wholly unhappy prior to the start of a quest, no matter what his personal views on the child's training methods are. The professor approaches Simon and squeezes his shoulder in encouragement. When Simon finally looks up at him, Elm continues to offer advice that he hopes will be given heed to.

"Pokemon are amazing creatures, Simon. I know you've always preferred fire types, but you can learn from all different kinds of pokemon. I want to recommend that you keep an open mind on your journey. Again, you may be surprised when your opinions change." The use of when rather than if is intentional. As a researcher, first and foremost, Elm is indisputably certain that exposure will take the lad through a metamorphosis. Simon, on the other hand, is far from sure.

The youth stays silent as he mulls over the professor's words, but the disappointment has already settled beneath his skin and keeps him from absorbing the meaning. They ricochet off the surface and Simon sighs softly. "I don't know about that last part... but thank you for the pokemon."

It is the first and most minuscule bit of gratitude he displays during the visit, but it is enough to put a ghost of a smile of Professor Elm's face.

Once he accepts the pokeball and the professor is done briefing him, Simon is ready to go. Immediately he decides on his first order of business, which is to build up a strong team that will gain him swift access to fire types –  _strong_  fire types.

 

* * *

 

A flock of pidgey seems okay to attack... until it is not. While Simon knows the disadvantage of his pokemon being a grass type, he does not anticipate the ferociousness of the pidgey. They dip and soar and peck, cooing shrilly with each attack. He is covering his head but they leave red marks on his arms, pull at his clothes. By the time they manage to evade the flock, he notices that one has plucked a piece of his pokemon's leaf from her head. Simon calls for Chikorita to retreat into her ball, suddenly angry about the damage, and he lingers on the outskirts of the glade. He decides that he must capture one now, if only to satisfy his idea of revenge.

Time passes slowly, his patience waning after a whopping five minutes. He soon leaves, but luck presents him with just as good of an opportunity on the path to the city. Eyes lock on a vulnerable target that is wobbling through the grass. Today, he decides, he will be obtaining a second pokemon.

Simon moves forward quietly and releases Chikorita, who's already a little banged up and tired from the previous battle – if the five-against-one encounter can even be referred to as such. Chikorita watches the creature, but makes no move. Simon commands it to tackle, glowering when there is no response.

Hesitation frustrates him, yet his chikorita's is steadfast. When faced with her foe, she dons a trait he does not recognize, but whatever it is, it is an inconvenient one. He shouts another command, watches her step forward, then throws his hands in the air once she pauses. Before his only pokemon hovers a spearow that he presumes has been in an altercation either with the same flock of pidgey they just encountered, or with another trainer. One of its wings is bruised, clearly not as stable as the other. In a feeble attempt to stay afloat it flaps rapidly and haphazardly, moving in wild awkward motions. Simon suspects the injury has separated it from its team and wants to take advantage of this opportunity.

Although it is keeping a safe distance, the spearow's head bobs forward, using sporadic pecking in what Simon thinks is an attempt to scare them off. Much like the chikorita, it is not the fire type he has dreamed of owning, but it is a step towards obtaining one. His starter is reluctant to push further, however.

"Use tackle!" He thrusts his hand forward in some sort of command, brows knitting and body shaking as Chikorita looks at him, then the flying type. "C'mon! I though Elm said you were loyal! Tackle!" Seconds crawl by before she slams into the already wounded spearow. The impact lowers it to the ground and it teeters. Simon grits his teeth.

"One more attack and I think it'll be safe to capture," he says aloud, a stern gaze on his chikorita. Simon thinks he is enforcing his authority, wants to commend himself for standing his ground – truly a job well done – when Chikorita begins to retreat. "No, Chikorita! No, no, no! Attack! Tackle!"

Spearow begins to shriek just as he yells at Chikorita to tackle again, and he can hear responses in the distance. They need to hurry this up. Unfortunately, the sound of impending danger makes his chikorita yield, and Simon hurriedly sends out a pokeball for capture anyway. When the pokeball recoils, he swings a fist through the air and retrieves Chikorita just as a another shriek calls from a distance. With no time to waste, he reattaches her pokeball to his belt and bolts away.

 

Simon's next stop should be a pokemon center, but he is sitting atop a hill of conflicting feelings. Having experienced his first proper battle with pokemon in the wild and losing his first catch, he is both excited and let down. Battling is thrilling, but failure is the opposite. When mapping out his journey and imagining adventures, he always anticipated immediate success. So far, nothing has gone according to plan. The disappointment of not being able to obtain his ideal starter or even so much as  _look_  at a fire type on the way here only increases his irritation.

 

Although weakened, he tells himself that Chikorita has one more battle left in her before things really enter the disaster zone, and calls her out again when he thinks he hears something rattling in the taller grass. She dashes near his legs, the large leaf on her head lowering to cover her eyes. The space left behind by the piece that has been plucked away by the pidgey is larger than he remembers. Simon scowls.

"Don't be such a torchic," he chides, missing the irony in his own words.

His eyes are focused on the patch of grass that the rustling is coming from. Beads of sweat are sliding down his temples. This is it, another chance to achieve another member of his team. The grass rustles again and he braces himself. Out crawls a weedle, and Simon's shoulders sag. The discovery is not nearly as exciting as he wants it to be, but he is already here, so he sends his pokemon to attack. Rather than obey, which he believes she should have learned to do by now, she runs. Away from the weedle and away from Simon.

For a moment, he simply stands there in disbelief, mouth comically agape in a perfect 'o' shape. His eyebrows have shot up to the top of his forehead. He doesn't even notice the weedle slide past him. When the shock of it wears off, the denial begins.

_She'll come back._

_She's my starter so she has to come back._

_Pokemon don't run away... do they?_

_When she gets attacked in the wild she'll realize she's wrong._

_But what if it's too late after that?_

The panic sets in, then the anger, and then a foreign feeling that makes his stomach churn and his shoulders heavy. How much time does he have before nightfall? This would have never happened if it was a cyndaquil in his possession instead of one of the weakest pokemon types. He hesitates after that thought.

Again, hesitation frustrates Simon. Too much happens in a moment of pause. One's entire pokemon could run away in that time. One's whole thought process can change. He heads in the direction the chikorita shot off to, trying to ignore his faltering ability to  _truly_  accept that a cyndaquil would have made his journey better.  _Of course it would have,_  he tries to convince himself, fingers curling into his palms.

 

* * *

 

After entering Cherrygrove from route 20, Simon grows more optimistic. Chikorita is a grass type – a girly one at that – and will probably be attracted to the fluttery flowery aspects of the city. His confidence builds and he allows himself a moment to recharge at the pokemon center before he resumes his search. While he's there, he inquires about any turned in pokemon, but the nurse has no leads.

He has been looking for his chikorita for an hour when he realizes that, here, someone  _is_ paying attention to him; even worse, he is being followed. Perhaps it is paranoia, but he is sure he recognizes the woman sitting outside of a pokemon cafe – and it is not from the familiar shelter of New Bark Town. Wary, Simon keeps his eyes to the ground, hands clenched into fists at his sides. He walks with more speed.

 

Tired and losing hope, Simon does not know what to do. Is he officially the worst pokemon trainer? Who loses their starter on the first day out? Eyes dart between the buildings surrounding him. A native of Johto, he has traveled here with his parents before, but with them as his guides, he never bothered to remember the patterns of the different pathways and corners. He exhales but wills himself to expel any nervousness. Where could Chikorita be? He looks at the path that leads to another trainer route.

A voice pulls him from the thoughts forming in his head. He looks up to see that it's the same woman he noticed at the cafe, the one he believes to be following him.

"I hear you've been looking for your chikorita," she says, as if she hasn't been following him while he literally yells out the word 'chikorita.' Suspicious but not wanting to show it, he stands straighter and puts on a brave face.

"Yes... I need to find her if I want to continue my training."

"Is that so?" she asks in that tone he hates – the one adults use when they aren't taking children seriously.

"Can you help me or not? Do you know where she is?" This better be a real clue.

Before he has time to process what's happening, she is pulling him by the collar. He swats at her hand on his lapel, trying to get out of the hold. "Let go of me!" he demands, but she's stronger than he expects.

"This'll teach you. Into the slammer!" she exclaims, pushing him into the entrance of the Cherrygrove police station.


End file.
